A feeble exodus in the waning ides of March left me broke in the backseat of a car, with head spinning, wishing I used restraint more often than eagerness in my pursuits of gratification. As I rubbed the sleepiness out of my eyes the breaching sun forced them immediately shut again. Worse than the sickness still prevalent was the shame which would linger. I turned eighteen.

Like preteen girls eagerly, hotly debating the hotness of blossoming male celebrities my friends and I each squabbled over our favorite band appearing at the Taste of Chaos Tour in Biloxi, Mississippi, in which I was being treated to for my gift of turning eighteen. It was me, Cody and Zach contending who would rock the hardest. Zach, in his foolish J-Rock loving mindset, chose to back the grouping of Japanese hard rock bands that would be fronting the four hour long show. Cody on the other hand opted to support Atreyu, in hindsight a respectable choice. I so wisely chose Bullet For My Valentine. I would regret later being so right.

The three hour or so long trip flew faster than the cars beside me on the interstate. It wasn’t a sense of nervousness that eased my foot off the pedal, but the opposite: anxiousness. In my excitement I never realized when I began driving below the speed limit to prohibit a speeding violation, but once I became aware it ceased to matter since my friends and I were jamming out to all the hard rock we could fit into a short trip. Sun still burning in the weakening sky, ever resilient to shun away any aspersions a gloomy sky might cast on my disposition. To drive 70 miles an hour and abruptly come to a complete standstill due to traffic jams entering the city felt like an emotional car crash. Suddenly my easygoing mood tensed up and I became reticent for an unknown reason. Then I realized I had overlooked Zach’s seemingly anecdotal noting of somebody dying at the Taste of Chaos Tour in Tampa just a few nights prior. It was my first hard rock concert. I was not prepared.

We filed into the cramped venue searching aimlessly for our seats. On the second row of the second level we surmised the gap in the seating belonged to us and proceeded to squeeze our way through the crowd. After settling in, a level of comfort crept in and random conversations abounded. The telltale echoes of, “One, Two,” and annoyingly extended amateurish rifts from a stage hand checking the guitars’ sounds long enough to assure his attention grabbing had paid off signaled the show would soon commence. Similarly to how going to the doctors and getting out of the waiting room certainly didn’t curtail the frustration of waiting in the patient room for upwards of fifteen minutes, the anticipation nearly exploded as the audience was teased with lights and sounds obviously indicating the band was almost ready.

The concert kicked off with a grave declaration against moshing, a form of dancing in which a group of people randomly push, pull, and punch and such; the warning would not be heeded by the crowd, or the performers who vocally encouraged it. The J-Rockers started the show properly enough, often blending the expected screaming with verses sung in a sweeping, solemn, melancholy flare. D’espairsRay stole the J-Rock portion of the show and closed it on a high note with Tsuki no Kioku.

Admittedly, I don’t remember everything that transpired on the night. The band blessthefall was not the first of the American bands to perform, but they were the first that I committed to memory. The lead singer pumped up the crowd then wailed one time before his band followed suit. After several great songs it was clear time was running short, and in one last exuberant hurrah he jumped from atop a speaker into the crowd, which caught him, and continued singing his song while propped up. Idiot Pilot followed, and paled in comparison; though they performed well enough to be remembered.

Up until this point, my friends and I had stood up and just enjoyed the music and environment. Once we realized Bullet For My Valentine’s stage hands were setting up the bands equipment we began discussing how exactly we would act. Defiant to the idea of looking or sounding like an idiot, I said I would go nuts. The ear-shatteringly loud band waylaid the crown with speakers that objectively were too loud for the indoor venue. With conviction I shouted the words and spastically jerked around only catching glimpses of anything recognizable because of the dark lighting and blurriness of my fast movements. I accidentally hit Cody in the face, which temporarily halted my ferocious “dancing;” yet when I saw him shrug off the blow and mimic my stupidly justified dance, instincts took over and I returned to my bestial state.

Atreyu offered an interesting reprieve with their mix of smooth vocals from the drummer and constant screaming from the lead singer. While Bullet For My Valentine might have rocked the loudest, Atreyu delivered a perfect set and encore. I didn’t know all of the words, but I didn’t care. Screaming unleashed a sense of euphoria in a crowd equally as incensed as I was. As the band deservedly walked off stage to adoration, I sunk into my seat for the first time in at least an hour and a half exhausted. It had been a dozen hours sense I had eaten or drank anything and the heat and exercise caught up to me.

Head ringing, and stomach feeling like a bottomless pit, I argued against staying for the final band – Avenged Sevenfold – and to instead drive to the Beau Rivage for a twenty-five dollar feast on the buffet. The complex smells of charred meats and steamed vegetables hit us like a wave as we opened the doors. I couldn’t muster enough energy to do anything other than order a glass of sweet tea while Cody and Zach sifted off to various sections of food. Disappointed with myself I pushed off the table to assure my balance and waded over, quite zombie-like, to the closest row of food.

Being sardonically picky and increasingly sick feeling I plucked three jumbo shrimp from the lot and meandered back to our table where I sloughed into the booth too hard, accidentally. Luckily our drinks had arrived during the short jaunt and I slurped down the entire glass like it was air and I have asthma, which I do. Cody and Zach joined me not long after, quickly mocking my meager selection. After one bite I lay my head down languishing in my illness. Alarmed, Zach asked if I was ok. Apparently, I was not. Only somewhat aware I asked if they would help me to my car and finish without me.

The next day I woke up in the backseat of my car at my house with a dozen or so texts making sure I was alright. Without going into more detail, my dad drove me to the hospital and I got some fluids in me. So my story concludes, and like a fable I hope a lesson is learned here: if you’re going to rock, drink Gatorade my friends. It’ll save you embarrassment and money.

Hello MyIGNer's, how about a music blog for a change? I don't presume to be a music expert, so please cut me a little slack. Now I know there are tons of amateur covers on YouTube both great and ugh trollish, but I've tried to stick to covers featured on albums (and that I know are covers). Here are the song covers that I can't get outta my heard once I hear them. I wonder what will happens once I listen to all of them back to back? Well, I'm risking injury for you folks, "Please Do Enjoy!" - Daemon Hatfield.

Original Artist: Elton John

Original Artist: Carlos Santana featuring Rob Thomas (Matchbox 20)

Original Artist: Dusty Springfield

Original Artist: Blur

Original Artist: Roberta Flack

Original Artist: Lynyrd Skynyrd

Original Artist: Harvey Danger

Original Artist: Oasis

Original Artist: Bob Dylan

Original Artist: REM

Original Artist: The Bee Gees

Original Artist: Joan Baez

Original Artist: Kate Bush

Original Artist: Alanis Morissette

Original Artist: The Guess Who

Original Artist: The Smiths - Fun fact, this is my ringtone -

Sorry it got a little longer than I anticipated. Anywho, I hoped you enjoyed the list. I love music, so please if there's any suggestions please let me know!